


Stake Your Claim

by dragonflycas



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: I can't believe I actually wrote this, M/M, Tattoos, could be 2009 could be 2015 who knows use your imagination, do not declare your affections this way good lord, ridiculous drunken bets, super vague timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 16:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10723311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonflycas/pseuds/dragonflycas
Summary: pic.twitter.com/aj89tLLM5BI saw this anecdote and... ran with it, whoops





	Stake Your Claim

Sid only agreed to the bet because he didn’t really think Geno was serious.

That, and because he’d had four drinks already and anything sounded like an okay idea.

It doesn’t sound like an okay idea now.

“You promise,” Geno insists as Sid vehemently protests fulfilling his part of the bet. Surely they can work something else out. Surely. He’ll do a thousand pushups instead.

“I was _drunk,”_ he says indignantly, for probably the fifth time.

“Still bet, still lose,” Geno shoots back, obviously having none of it. He holds up his phone and taps the screen. “Gonna be late, made you appointment.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, I research, find best,” Geno assures brightly, as if the quality of the tattoo artist is what’s bothering Sid. Well, actually, that is part of it. If he’s going to do this, he at least wants it done well. Oh god, is he going to do this?

After another minute of him glaring and Geno patiently staring him down he huffs and follows his friend out of the house. Apparently he’s doing this.

He wasn’t drunk enough to forget what happened, which is actually unfortunate because it means he wasn’t drunk enough to claim he wasn’t aware of what he was agreeing to. He and Geno had made stupid bets like this a hundred times over the years. They were fiercely competitive people, and money didn’t matter much to them, so they got creative with betting on things like pool or cards. One time Sid had to eat some sort of meat-based Russian jello, which was awful, but temporary. Another time Geno had to sit through an entire history documentary with Sid, and if he complained they started it over. He said it was the most boring three hours of his life but again, it was temporary.

This, Sid thinks as he stares at the tattoo shop they park behind, will not be temporary. And all because he sucks at beer pong, of all things.

“Geno,” he tries one last time, grabbing Geno’s arm before they can enter the building. “This is stupid, can’t we figure out something else?”

“You say, Sid,” Geno reminds again, shaking his head. “You say will do, if lose. And you lose.”

“Why’d you have to ask for _this?”_ Sid groans, stung by the reminder that he lost anything, even if it was a stupid drinking game.

“Is funny,” Geno shrugs, eyes sparkling as he pushes open the door for them. Sid groans and shoves his hands in his pockets as he follows.

This probably wouldn’t be quite so terrible if Sid didn’t like Geno so damn much. Which sounds silly; if you’re going to let a guy pick a tattoo for you, you should like him a lot. Sid likes Geno so, so much, which is the entire problem. This is supposed to be a stupid bet between friends, something for the team to laugh about later and then forget after the next bet is made. It should just be a reminder to not let himself have quite so many beers. But it won’t. It’ll be something Geno picks out for him, seared into his skin forever. A reminder that Sid can’t control himself when it comes to Geno, that he turns to putty like a teenager.

The person behind the counter is surprisingly chipper for someone with that much metal in their face. They ask them to flip through the design book and wait there for the artist. Geno grabs the book gleefully and sits down, angling it away from Sid so he can’t see what he’s looking at. He’d be more nervous if he wasn’t sure Geno had something in mind already. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have chosen this as a bet in the first place. Just what it is, Sid can’t be sure. At least he’d had the wherewithal, even when drunk, to insist on a _small_ tattoo. That way he knows the Russian coat of arms isn’t going to end up over his entire back.

When the artist comes out and asks what Sid wants, he looks to Geno, who beckons the man over to the counter and obtains a piece of paper and a pen. He carefully draws something out on it and says a few low words to the artist, and then they return.

“Your buddy says this is a surprise, you really cool with that?” The tattoo artist raises his eyebrows, waving the piece of paper. Sid can’t see what’s on the other side, and he almost says no. He almost backs out, but. He wants it. Whatever stupid fucking thing Geno’s decided to put on his skin forever, he wants it. Even if it’s just from some bet, even if it’s something ridiculous, he wants it. Because it’s Geno’s, sort of, it’s a piece of Geno that’ll always be with him. He’s such an idiot.

“Yeah, I’m cool. Let’s do this.” He’s pretty sure somewhere in the city Flower just stopped whatever he was doing and muttered _Sidney’s doing something stupid,_ but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Where’s it gonna go?” the artist asks once they’re back in his little booth, which Sid is glad to see looks meticulously clean.

He nearly jumps when Geno pats the side of his thigh, high up just below his hip. He manages to stick to just raising his eyebrows at Geno in disapproval.

“Hide from cameras,” Geno explains with a roll of his eyes, like Sid is the one being weird when Geno is giving him a tattoo two inches from his ass. Actually, he should be grateful it’s not on his ass. “No one but team see, no one ask questions.”

“Fine, put it there,” Sid sighs, reluctant to admit that Geno’s right. One camera or another would eventually catch anything not able to be covered by boxers. Of course, there’s the tattoo artist himself, but Sid hopes he’s professional enough to protect his privacy.

“First time? It’s gonna hurt,” the guy warns, and Sid feels his own unimpressed look being mirrored by Geno. He’s not sure if he genuinely has no idea who they are, or if he’s just trying to treat him like any other client. Sid doesn’t care, he can handle it. He strips out of his pants and lays back, letting the guy arrange him and then staring up at the ceiling as some sort of stencil is laid down. It feels sort of like writing more than drawing, and he thinks there’s an “e” in there but that’s entirely unhelpful. Fuck, Geno probably put a Russian swear on his leg.

Geno cheerfully distracts Sid with chatter about upcoming games as the tattoo artist gets to work. It does hurt, and it’s a new kind of hurt that his body isn’t used to, but he doesn’t think it’s all that bad. Having Geno’s undivided attention for a while makes up for any pain, too. Though the heaps of embarrassment yet to come when the team sees is something wholly different. He’s deliberately not thinking of that part.

Geno stuck to the size agreement because they’re out within an hour, a bandage carefully taped to his leg and strict instructions on how to care for it. Geno drives him home and invites himself in for dinner, claiming he has to be there in three hours when it’s time for the bandage to come off and Sid sees it for the first time.

They order take-out and watch some dumb action movie and it feels almost normal, but Sid’s hand keeps wandering back to the hot spot on his thigh, pressing lightly as he wonders what he’ll see there.

Finally, the time is up, and Geno follows Sid into the bathroom, leaning against the door as Sid steps out of his sweats and reaches down to carefully undo the bandage. The tattoo is upside-down for him, of course, but that wouldn’t matter anyway. It’s Cyrillic text, just like he thought. “Ebren?” he tries, frowning, and Geno cracks up beside him.

“Really, Sid?” he sighs when he straightens up again, the fondness in his tone making Sid’s stomach flip. “All this time, not know my name?”

Sid blinks at Geno and slowly looks down at the word again, then back at his friend. Евгений. Evgeni. Fuck. He got his crush’s name tattooed on his thigh.

“You wrote your name on me? Really?” He tries to sound exasperated, but it comes out rather weak.

“Yes,” Geno agrees, smug as ever. There’s something hot in his eyes that’s making Sid’s throat go dry. He takes a step into the bathroom, which suddenly seems half its size, crowding Sid up against the sink. He reaches down, fingertips ghosting over the inflamed skin. “Mine,” he says simply. Sid doesn’t need anything else, he reaches up and drags Geno into a scorching kiss.

*********

“Y’know,” Sid says later, when they’re sprawled across his bed together and he’s playing his fingers idly over Geno’s back. Geno grunts into his shoulder, obviously losing a battle with sleep. “there’s easier ways to ask a guy out.” Geno lifts his head at that, just enough to meet Sid’s gaze, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Like this way,” he says simply, as if it’s an entirely normal thing to put your name on someone you want to date. Sid really shouldn’t find it so hot. “Mine,” he says again, firmly, resting his hand over the name on Sid’s thigh.

“You’re getting _Sidney_ on you next time,” Sid warns, but he’s grinning as Geno leans up to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @whykidtango or twitter @russiawithgeno


End file.
